


hell of a season

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: F/M, Mastermind Naegi Makoto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>makoto naegi / kyouko kirigiri: they would burn this world into ruin. watch it fade away into an apocalyptic sunset. </p><p>(a tale of a girl who despaired at the hands of a lucky, oh so very lucky boy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you won't make it on your own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [watchfob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchfob/gifts).



“What are best friends for?” He mocks her, spits out falsities with surprising ease. His lips are red with Togami’s blood, the heir apparent pinned on an adjacent wall, arms twisted in awkward angles, scissors protruding from open wounds.

“This isn’t friendship, it’s murder.”

Her voice catches slightly, a little miscalculated breath, before finally muttering friendship. But he knows what words slipped underneath her bruised tongue—

_This isn’t you, Naegi._

“Friendship is paramount, and Togami-kun is terribly indebted to me, he no longer has to worry over Fukawa-san. Getting Genocider Syo to murder him was truly the accomplishment.” He chides with a chuckle. Kyouko snarls and lunges at him, but he’s faster, he’s crueler, and sidesteps her attacks with a sigh reserved for bratty children. She has a knife, and her skin is broken and her cheeks are slit, but she looks beautiful, feral and gorgeous and Makoto can’t help but lick his lips.

“We can rule together, you know, kings of the new world. We’d burn it to the goddamn ground.”

He’s so compelling, so resolute, he seemed to tower over her. She looks so terrified, so disheveled. Her skirt’s giving privy to more than she allows, if he brushed his fingers against the hem, he’d come across the band of black lace panties.

“Go fuck yourself.” She’s a statue, glaring from the ground, fingers still glued to the hilt of her knife.

“You helped me with that endeavor last night, Kirigiri-san. Wanna go for round two?”

His hazel gaze is sardonic, filled with pity. Appropriate for the mastermind of this frenzied school of mutual killing.

Kyouko jumps into action, knees bent, knife arm tucked in, ready to throw. Makoto pulls out a rope from the confines of his hoodie, and grants the silver girl a sad smile.

“I take that as a no. Fine, I guess.” He ties the harmless piece of cord into a knot, and paces until he finds a suitable anchor for the end of his rope. He throws it over the top of an open door, and the rope doesn’t move. She watches intently as he positions a small step-stool under the hanging cord. He stands underneath the main gate, tugs a circle of wire around his neck. He tiptoes to keep it from impairing his speaking.

“Well, are you going to keep your best friend hanging?” He ponders the question, then laughs.

“Maybe you’re angry because we’ve always been more than that. Lovers, maybe? Mmm, I like how that sounds. Are you going to leave your heroine hanging, Kirigiri-san?”

“Stop it, Naegi. _Stop it._ ”

“Stop what?” She drops her knife and sprints towards him, pushes him against the metal gate, shoves him until he bruises.

“You piece of fucking shit, _Naegi_.” She doesn’t whisper, she doesn’t scream, her eyes and face are still an oasis of ice. Their lips are inches apart, he stains her with the heir’s blood. Their mouths are carmine, and his laughter tickles her throat. His fingers are still clenched around the wire. He feeds the knot, and unites them in unholy matrimony, the noose wide enough to take both of them into the afterlife.

“Or we can die together, Kyouko. your call.”

They danced precariously on a three legged chair. The use of her first name makes her flinch.

“It would be like a new game. New game plus.”

She ignores the desperation in his plea. Her knife falls.

"Humanity doesn’t have a reset button,” she says, kicking off of the stool.


	2. maybe we can do this for the rest of our lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he believes in luck.

_god._

_god god god god._  

kyouko’s whispers reverberate in the empty courtroom. they shake the air, they fall to the floor in pairs. she’s trembling, ever so slightly, in her black leather boots, her fingers twitch underneath her black leather gloves, and she’s an absolute mess in regards to the assumed kirigiri standard. her silver hair is disheveled, and her fists are clenched. 

she’s dying. forever the ice queen in composure and compulsions, but she’s dying.  

and it’s almost painful to watch. 

naegi makoto laughs, his chuckles cut and scald and scar. 

oh, he likes that.  _scar._  he crosses the distance, and presses his thumb against her chin, makes her look at him ( _look at me look at me, kirigiri-san, don’t you like my new threads? you always said red was my best look, hahaha!_ ) 

she keeps repeating the same three letter word. he doesn’t understand why. why would anybody put their fate in some omnipotent being? why would they do that, he murmurs, biting down on the pale of kirigiri’s neck, leaving bruises and blood, and red red red—she doesn’t say a word, she is an iceberg at sea, and she is crumbling. 

he doesn’t believe in god, he believes in  _luck_. 

her gloves are off first, he tugs at them and watches them flutter to the floor, and then it’s her jacket, and then tie, and then blouse. her skirt stays on because he likes how it looks on her, and his nails are all over her skin. 

_i’ve always liked that look on your face_ , he says.  _it’s my favorite, because it looks like you’re about to cry, but you always stop yourself before you do. it’s great. ha-ha-ha._

he does look good in red, it pains her. from the little crown on top of his head, to the color blocked hoodie and blazer, to the abyss of his jeans, makoto naegi didn’t look like the pollyanna she pegged him as so many months earlier. 

he looks like a demon, and his lips burn like hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized that i want to keep writing mastermind!naegi, and that i will eventually go backwards, and write about the earlier cases, and whatnot. this one takes place before the last one, so yeah, definitely pulling a curious case of benjamin button over here
> 
> l8rs

**Author's Note:**

> what started off as an indulgence is now a collection of mastermind!naegi drabbles.  
> enjoy, i guess!!!


End file.
